


sidewalk blocks and slurred words

by riggetyricked



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, F/F, Friendship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riggetyricked/pseuds/riggetyricked
Summary: I keep falling apart and she keeps fixing me. - or: an unrequited love story.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	sidewalk blocks and slurred words

**Author's Note:**

> This has also been posted on tumblr and can still be found there. This is one of the few things I ever posted there that I genuinely want to keep, so I'm reposting it here, where it won't get lost between reblogs. It's not the style of my Rickorty stories because this was written before that time in my life. Feel free not to read this. It's literally just here so I won't lose it!
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song "Tilt you back" by Halsey

There’s an arm around my middle. I’m not sure who’s arm it is. I think I’ve already looked up to see a few times, but I keep forgetting. Maybe that’s better, though. If I don’t know who it is I won’t start talking, and if I start talking now I’ll just say something embarrassing.

I’ve been saying embarrassing shit all night, haven’t I?

The world is dark. The light of the street lamps is yellow and fuzzy. Everything is fuzzy. I feel like I’m a character in a movie; unaware of anything that’s happening beyond the borders of the TV screen.

It’s a small one.

I wish I’d stayed home. That thought is playing on a loop in my head. I feel horrible. I think I’m crying.

“Hey. You okay?”

I look up at the voice.

It’s her. I can’t believe I forgot. I’m embarrassing myself in front of her.

I try to say “I wish I’d stayed home”, but my mouth turns it into gibberish. I think I could speak if I tried to say something less personal. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.

I say: “Yuh.”

She’s blurry around the edges, but her face is clear when I focus on it. She’s worried, maybe a bit disappointed. I want to tell her I’m okay. I don’t want to lie.

At this point, I’m not sure what the truth is. So I say nothing.

“I’m sorry. I never should have made you come out here.”

“You didn’t make me do anything,” I say. I think it’s more or less understandable. Maybe. I’m not actually sure I said anything.

“I did, though. You said you weren’t sure, but I insisted.”

She’s not drunk. Not the way I am. I wish she was so this wouldn’t be weird, but it’s good that she isn’t. Somebody needs to be responsible.

“I wanna go home,” I say. It’s a mess of words. _Iwuhgohomm_. But at least, this time, I’m sure I’ve actually opened my mouth. I try again. “I want to go home.”

Still not perfect, but clearer.

“It’s four am, baby. There are no trains right now.”

I don’t think she’s ever called me baby before, but by the look on her face, she doesn’t think anything of it. Maybe she calls all her friends baby now. Still, my mind lingers on that word for a beat. _Baby_.

“When will there be trains?”

I don’t bother repeating myself this time. She’s already answering me.

“They start going again at seven am. Let’s just go to my place, take a nap, and if you still wanna go home in three hours I’ll ride the train with you and walk you to your grandparents’ house. They live nearby enough, right?”

“Yuh. Half hour,” I say, eyes welling up with tears again.

She’s so good. Too good for me. I’m the person who ruins everyone’s good time. She’s the person who fixes my mistakes.

It’s always been that way. At least, it was when we were younger.

Then I moved away.

This is the first time I’ve seen her face-to-face in a year and here I am, making her fix my dumb self.

I fell apart without her, but once I was gone I’m sure she thrived.

We reach her house. I don’t remember turning into her street. Everything seems scary and unfamiliar; not like I don’t recognize it, but like this is a place I’ve read about and imagined but never actually seen with my own two eyes.

“Can you stand on your own?” she asks, but she’s already let go of me to dig through the pockets of her large coat.

I must be swaying in place, but I don’t fall. I think I fell earlier. My knees hurt like I did.

She finds her keys, presses one into the lock. I recognize that keychain. It’s a small blue heart with two girls, like the ones on bathroom doors, holding hands. It probably means they’re gay, but I bought it for her when we were eight.

To me, it meant best friends. I have the same one but in pink… which is ironic. I was always the tomboy.

I don’t remember going inside, but we’re in her living room now. She’s making me sit down on the couch. It’s a different couch. White instead of black. They probably got a new one after their cat died.

“Do you want some water?” she asks.

I’m crying again, which is stupid. I’m crying because I keep crying, which makes me want to cry more.

I can’t stop, though. I want to, but then I see that sad look she’s giving me.

I shake my head.

She sits down on the coffee table, facing me, and puts her hands on my knees. They’re warm, and I put my own cold hands on top of hers without thinking. She doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” I say. _Msurry_.

“For what?” she asks, and it seems like a genuine question. “You had one too many drinks. It happens.”

I shake my head. “I knew when I had enough but I kept going.”

“That’s because drunk people make bad choices.” She pauses. “I should have stopped you, but you were having fun and actually talking to people without me… I like that you do that now.”

 _Sorry_ , I say again, but no: I’m just thinking it. That’s good, because I don’t know what I’m saying sorry for. Talking to people? Being a mess without her? Being a mess in general?

I say: “You’re my best friend.”

She moves one of her hands so the palm faces up and squeezes my hand.

“And you’re mine.”

But I don’t think I am. Not anymore.

We were growing apart before I moved, and that was my fault. Now there’s an ocean between us, figuratively, and that’s my fault too.

I want to bridge that ocean, just for a moment.

I kiss her.

There’s one confusing moment where she’s leaning into it, but then she pulls away. All at once, I feel like the most horrible person in the world.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again. I keep having to say it.

And she keeps forgiving me.

“It’s okay,” she says, brushing my hair behind my ear. “You’re drunk.” She gets up. “I’m gonna get you a blanket.”

She disappears into a hallway, and I want to follow her. I want to tell her she’s always been the most important person in my life. I want to tell her that I sometimes cry myself to sleep because I don’t know how to make friends without her.

Nobody likes me if I’m not part of us.

I want to tell her that all that wouldn’t even matter to me if I didn’t miss her so much. If I hadn’t been in love with her since we were twelve.

I fall asleep before she comes back.


End file.
